


Twyla In The Shadows

by BiblioPan



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Fluff, Flufftober, Gen, Other, flufftober prompt 1: In The Shadows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiblioPan/pseuds/BiblioPan
Summary: You stop in to a quaint cafe in a small town and happen upon a cafe owner, who bewitches you in the moonlight.Happy First Day of Flufftober everyone!!Prompt 1: In the Shadows
Relationships: Twyla Sands/reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 14
Collections: Flufftober2020





	Twyla In The Shadows

The door swings wide, banging against the back wall of the cafe and breaking the silence of the summer night. You pause your exploration of the tiny town, surprised at the clanging and worried at the gasp of the woman in the semi-darkness. 

“Shoot, that was loud. Okay, time to fling trash like a dirty little raccoon!” Her auburn hair catches the lamplight as she heaves the bags into the dumpster, and she pauses afterwards to dust off her hands on her thighs. Parts of her are still in shadow, but her stance is tall and regal, back straight and confident. Her freckles are faint but unmistakable, dotting her cheeks and tucked away in her soft smile. A scatter of moths dance in the streetlamp light, fluttering and bumping into one another, and the woman gazes in open wonder. When was the last time you felt such naked joy at anything in nature, especially in an alleyway? You waffle on speaking up, worried your words might ruin this picturesque moment.

She spots you before you have a chance to decide. “Oh, hi! Thought I was alone out here. Everything okay?” Her voice is full of genuine concern and this too catches you off guard. She doesn’t even know you, so why on earth would she care?

“Um, yeah, yeah, I’m just in town tonight. Stopped on my way to Toronto to meet up with some friends. Thought I might step in here for a bite.” Why are you rambling? You must sound completely ridiculous. “Are you still open?” 

She smiles widely and joins you on the sidewalk as you walk to the front of the building. “Oh, absolutely. We’ve got another hour or so until close, so plenty of time to whip you up something.” She leads you to the entrance and holds the door open for you. 

“Gosh, thanks, um...” — you lean forward to read her name tag — “Twyla. I hope I wasn’t creepy back there. The sound startled me and then I just didn’t know what to say.” Your last sentence is barely audible, a blush traveling along your neck that you pray she doesn’t see.

Her green eyes twinkle as she ushers you to the counter, but her gentle smile says she’s not going to bring it up, and you realize she’s the kindest person you’ve met in some time. “Don’t worry about it,” she says as she washes her hands. “Are you here on your own or with family or friends?” You stifle a snort as she passes you the largest menu you have ever seen in your life, her name proudly emblazoned across the top.

You peruse the vast array of options and land on a patty melt; it’s always a safe choice since it’s tough to ruin. “Excellent choice and one of our best sellers,” Twyla says with a sure smile. “George just got back from visiting family in Texas, so you’re in for a treat with real Texas toast!” Her wink and soft touch against the back of your hand sends shivers up your back and you will your body temperature down. 

She turns to hang the order slip and you look around the cafe, wondering if you would have come in without her personal invitation. You’re unsure but glad you’ve come now—it's warm, quiet, and welcoming, though that could easily be due to Twyla’s presence alone. “So, Twyla, this is your place? It’s charming.”

“Oh, well, thank you! I ran it for years but now I formally own it too, and man, you would not believe how much harder and easier that makes everything.” She putters around, cleaning things and prepping for close, all the while sharing her joys and frustrations with you in the otherwise empty cafe. You sit enraptured, pleased beyond measure at the lucky timing of your evening stroll. You toss in comments and questions where you can, but mainly you soak up the attention and eat your ketchup-soaked patty melt (edible but the driest you’ve ever eaten). 

You glance at your phone and realize with horror that it is clearly after close, yet Twyla hasn’t kicked you out. “Oh wow, Twyla, why didn’t you say something? Am I keeping you and George here late?” You hastily gather your things and hope you don’t sound as panicky as you feel. Years in retail and restaurant jobs made you hate people who overstay their welcome in establishments.

Twyla waves a dismissive hand and unties her apron. “Oh, no, it’s fine. George and I are all finished up and you can just walk out with us. This place will be here again tomorrow and I’ll look it over in the morning to make sure we didn’t miss anything. You’re such a good listener that I lost track of time!”

You all make your way out the front door, George lumbering towards his truck as Twyla locks the door in the darkness. This is it. You’re leaving tomorrow, so no time like the present. “Hey, I’m sure you’re tired from your shift, but, uh, any chance you’d like to let me listen some more over a drink? Doesn’t even need to be alcoholic, I just uh, really enjoy your stories, and uh,” you stammer, look at your shoes, and hate yourself just a little more in this awkward moment.

A soothing hand touches your forearm and you dare to look up. Twyla’s nodding and giggling and giving you directions to some place called the Wobbly Elm. God, you’ve never been more grateful to know people in Toronto.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all my readers, my fellow Flufftober writers, and betas Disgruntled Pelican and EggplantSalad!
> 
> I am excited to post many more fluffy words over the course of this month, across multiple fandoms. Kudos and comments always appreciated. <3


End file.
